


Case File #543: The Robot City

by CrinklyTinfoil



Category: Robots (2005), SCP - Containment Breach
Genre: But only because the character is undercover, Dysphoria, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Interviews, Misgendering, Mutilation, Post-Apocalypse, SCP foundation is more hinted at then anything else, Survival Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28846896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrinklyTinfoil/pseuds/CrinklyTinfoil
Summary: Documentation of 'The Robot City Incident' and the casualties along with the possible threat it may pose to what is left of humanity.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 4





	1. Part 1

**Case File #543: The Robot City**

**Status: Urgent**

_This file details an incident that occurred with the region now known as “Robot City” — a previously unknown civilization. Relevant information been documented over the course of several interviews and recordings. A decision has been made to chronicle this through writing, due to the very real threat this region poses to the last vestiges of humanity._

_In this case file I will provide the relevant documents of what occurred, starting with the first incident and ending with the last audio recording. Viewer discretion is advised, as this account is by no means pleasant. However, I feel that it is important that this incident is treated with the utmost severity._

_We shall start at the beginning._

**Incident report, 29 th of June, 2085: Rogue Robot**

_This report comes to us from a recording of an interview taken from one of Cast City’_ _s scavengers, belonging to D_ _ivision 4: Scrap Collectors. Division 4 is the scavenging division specifically assigned to search for useable metals and hardware outside of Cast City limits. Their division is small, and mostly comprised of strong and able-bodied young individuals who can carry a significant amount._

_The pair were far outside city boundaries, scouting out one of the further out ‘car pits’ located just south of the city. Car pits are large gatherings of cars that were left abandoned when the nuclear bombs struck. They are not actually in pits — that’s just a bit of Scrap Collector terminology — but rather, congregation zones where traffic jammed as the populace attempted to flee, leaving large densities of abandoned vehicles._

_This particular car pit was further than most scavengers normally go, but these two were noted to be both experienced and successful at their profession. Their journey had been logged with their superiors, and they were specifically searching for several parts that aid in one of the newer building projects within Cast City._

_Their names were Patrick “Nuke” Crook and Carl “Wrench” Marshall. Friends and family have noted that they had been out on trips like this repeatedly since the pair passed the age of sixteen._

_The wastelands that close in all around Cast City are considered to be safe for the most part, though where the pair had wandered was considered less so. Packs of wild dogs, grown savage from time and lack of food, are known to wander these areas, alongside rats that have grown fair larger and bolder than any that existed before the world ended._

_However, Mr. Crook and Mr. Marshall carried weaponry that should have been enough to protect them from anything they encountered while out that deep in the wasteland._

_Because of this factor, neither Nuke nor Wrench were on guard as they’d made their way into the graveyard of rusted cars, navigating it with ease that comes from years of experience. Wrench, the survivor of the encounter, later described the incident in vivid detail. Please keep in mind that this was recorded hours after the events, and Mr. Wrench is still clearly quite perturbed by the incident._

**Mr. Marshall’** **s Testimony, Audio File:**

You… you want me to start?

_*brief pause in which the interviewer nods their head, indicating that Mr. Marshall should begin*_

Right now? Hell, I don’t know if I can. Fuck, I showered and everything, but look — his blood’s still on me. I just don’t understand why… it happened out of nowhere.

_*Wrench takes a deep breath*_

Sorry, sorry. This isn’t want you want. Just… give me a second. My thoughts are all… I mean, he’s _dead_. He’s fucking dead, that _thing_ killed him. But… I need to start at the beginning. Won’t make sense if I don’t…

_*There is a sound of Mr. Marshall’s fingers tapping the table near the recorder*_

So, both of us, — Nuke and I — we were deep in the car pit. Not as deep as we sometimes go, but pretty deep all the same. We’d found one of them New Age cars, the ones that had just barely hit the streets before the bombs dropped. You remember those? I’ve seen some vintage video ads of them. My grandfather had some of ‘em backed up on a flash drive years ago and he showed ‘em to me when I was just a kid…

_*There’s a lull in the dialogue as Mr. Marshall seems to retreat slightly. A cough can be heard from the interviewer*_

Oh, shit, sorry. Got distracted. Guess my mind would rather focus on old ads than think about what happened.

It was just so odd. One second he and I were prying open the rusted hood of an old Tesla, the next we hear the oddest clattering behind us.

It’s accompanied by humming. Really cheerful humming, as though someone’s having the time of their life. We could hear the sound of metal on metal, as though someone is running a damn pipe along the cars.

Something about it… it puts Nuke on edge. He’s quick to pull his gun, but as the intruder wanders into sight, he doesn’t take the shot.

Can’t say I blame him. We were both just… confused. See, we knew what it was as soon as we saw it. A robot — a humanoid one. It’s walking about on two legs as it hums. Doesn’t seem particularly perturbed by its surroundings, and doesn’t look over towards us.

_*Mr. Marshall lets out a slightly hysterical sounding laugh*_

Shit, we should have left it alone, but Nuke… he was curious. I don’t blame him, he was always fascinated with robotics. When he wasn’t out with me, you’d be liable to catch him down at the greenhouses, helping keep the automated watering process in check.

We’d heard of those robots. The ones that come from the Quarantined Zone. Never heard of one wandering out before, though.

**Interview Paused**

_The Quarantined Zone is a large parcel of land that has long since been cut off from human inhabitation. Initially, this was simply due to concern of radiation levels being too high._

_Later on, strange reports of humanoid robots began to circulate. While most during this time believed that this was simply a way of keeping people out of the Quarantined Zone, it now seems that there was more validity to those claims than previously thought._

**Interview Resumed**

_*Mr. Marshall’s breathing is becoming harsher, and it is clear that he is perturbed. Still, he continues.*_

It think he wanted to see if they were really as smart as everyone says they were. I mean, the stories you hear, y’know? When the world came crashing down, we hadn’t exactly gotten artificial intelligence all worked out, had we? But the robots that come out of that place… they’re supposed to be scary smart.

So, as we approach, he yells out a greeting to it. It turns, and with a cheery smile yells back, waving its rusty arms in a friendly gesture.

It looked strange, now that I’m thinking about it. Almost as though it was made of cobbled together parts. There was some sort of microwave in its chest, the damn thing embedded directly into its chest. I can’t imagine why it would’ve needed something like that — but regardless of why, there it was.

Nuke takes its friendliness as an invitation to get up close. He walks up, chipper as can be, and just starts talking with it. I can’t remember most of what was said. It wasn’t important, not really. At least, I fucking hope it wasn’t, because I was just too baffled by how it was speaking. Like it was thinking in real time, like it was… alive.

_*At this point the interviewer mouths at Mr. Marshall that the conversation was important, and he lets out a curse*_

Look, fuck, I don’t know! They went on about the weather for a couple of minutes. Maybe a couple of bad jokes. What I _do_ remember, though, was Nuke asking about where it’d come from. I was curious to know that as well, so I came forward a couple steps. I’d been lingering a bit back — the thing made me nervous. There was just something so _wrong_ about its metal frame moving in such a convincingly human fashion, it gave me the shakes.

The robot, whose name was Piston if I remember right, said that he was just taking a small break from the city. I thought it was odd, how he acted like we should be familiar with it. I should have known there’d be trouble… I had a bad feeling. I kept it to myself though and… well… Nuke paid the price for that, didn’t he?

_*A loud sniff can be heard on the other end of the recording, then the sound of someone rubbing furiously at their face*_

Fuck, I don’t want to think about it. I don’t even know what caused it. Nuke and that damned robot were talking, chumming it up like they’d known each other for years! Nuke brought up the car pit, explaining what we were doing in it. Maybe that was it? Maybe it was offended by how we were treating the cars?

Whatever the reason, the robot starts to act weird. Weirder than before. He begins to twitch sporadically, bit like he’s been electrocuted or something like that. His hands keep opening and closing, and it don’t look like he’s able to stop.

His speech becomes all slurry and drippy. Like he’s having a hard time enunciating his words. I mean, he’d been talking like someone straight out of the fifties right up until it happened, so the change was impossible to overlook.

Shit, I was already backing away, but Nuke… he moved forward. He was _worried_. Guess he thought the damn thing was having some sort of malfunction. Idiot probably wanted to help it, he was always nice like that. That’s when it reached out and took hold of his arm.

Now, I ain’t never seen a man’s arm get ripped clean from the socket. The amount of strength it would take to tear it off so cleanly gives me shivers just thinking about. But that is exactly what that robot did. He ripped the arm free. The blood hit me, even where I stood.

Nuke didn’t scream, not at first. He was in too much shock I think — we both were. Then, Piston spoke, and I remember these words specifically because I thought they were so odd.

“Lovely weather we’re having. You chaps know where we are?”

He’d already asked that question, and I couldn’t tell if the damn machine was being sarcastic or had genuinely forgotten its own question and was simply asking it again. Can robots be sarcastic? Is that possible?

No, I don’t actually want an answer, I just want this to be over.

_*Mr. Marshall takes in a long and deep breath*_

After his arm was off, I thought I’d seen the worst of it. Then, that damned machine reached out and just started pulling him apart. It ripped anything it could get its metal fingers on. It ripped hair from his scalp, twisting his remaining still-intact hand til it came off at the wrist. It was like it was trying to dissemble him, though I don’t know why in the hell it felt the need. And still, it kept talking. As though nothing it was doing was horrifying in the least.

Finally, I remembered I had a gun. In a flash it was in my hand, and I began to fire. I shot it in the head… I think. Maybe it wasn’t the first shot, maybe the first shot was in its torso. I don’t know, but eventually, I sent the head flying off.

It didn’t stop moving, though. The body just kept ripping, and Nuke just keep screaming. I have no idea how much it weighed, but to hold him down like that, I’d guess it had to be over several hundred pounds. Having it on top of him like that, it was probably crushing organs internally.

The head rested a couple meters from the body, a ding in the metal from where my bullet had hit it. It looked towards me and it asked me in an irritated voice if I thought it was funny to shoot another man’s head off.

I ran. I just run… I’d had enough. God forgive me, Nuke forgive me _,_ I just ran. I left him there. Please… did they find him? I keep asking people this and no one will tell me…

**End of recording.**

_The body of Nuke Crook was indeed found. The injuries described by Mr. Marshall were accurate, though the corpse had acquired more once he’d left._

_There was only a stump left at the joint of the wrist, and his eyes were popped out from his skull. Parts of the scalp had been torn away from the assault._

_Both his legs were missing — the right leg had been bent and broken, and was discovered hanging over a car door. The left leg was not located by the team that came searching for Nuke, and its location is currently unknown._

_It is important to note that Nuke Crook was found alive. This state did not last long, but when a rescue team arrived on the scene, he was still breathing and could still speak. He was disoriented, babbling, but according to the team, his last words were that the robot was going back to see if he could get ‘help’. With these words, it had left Nuke to bleed out among the deteriorated cars._

_Needless to say, Cast City went into full panic mode. Though the authorities tried to put a cap on what had happened, the humans who live in Cast City are few, and thus word spreads like fire._

_Since it will be relevant to this case file, I would like to take a second to describe the general cut and grit of those who live in the City of Cast._

_Though they are few, ranging only in the hundreds, they are weathered. Their grandparents before them survived the nuclear fallout that was brought about by our final world war — a war so devastating that it reduced civilization to a mere handful of humans scattered across the globe._

_There were no zombies, as so many movies had predicted — but there was sickness, disease, and a regression in our electronics and knowledge. Many of techniques were lost to us — certain technologies falling back into darkness as those with practical knowledge were no more._

_Cast City is a fortress for many. It was built further out in the country, constructed of metal and any wood Mother Nature had left to afford in the region. There are no walls around it — there is no need. After all, there aren’t enough humans left to pose any real threat._

_To say that Cast City was unprepared for a robot — let alone a robot who was described as something built from junk — to attack and kill a citizen is an understatement. It left the entire place in a ruckus. It was the first time these people had been given someone else to blame aside from other humans for their adverse_ _conditions._

_To insert a personal note, I believe that if the people thought they could, they’d have marched directly to the origin of the robot and destroyed everything they found. They’d have manifested as an angry mob, demanding justice._

_But… then there was the horror of the situation. A creature of oil and metal, who couldn’t be killed by just shooting it. Wrench loosed his entire chamber into the robot, and not a single bullet did any lasting damage as far as the recovery team could tell._

_So, in an effort to calm the town and themselves, the authorities decided that this did indeed warrant investigation. However, they worried that the robots were as smart as described. They were afraid that sending a team would read as a threat — a threat that the machines would respond in kind to. They didn’t want the animated automations to decide that they wanted to march on Cast City in retaliation._

_So, they came to a decision — they would send one individual beyond the borders of the robots’ land. One person who they felt could disguise themselves and blend in among the robots enough to get to the bottom of what was happening. They opened interviews for anyone who wanted to go. I shall not include them all here, but there is one that is of note. The only one that mattered in the end._

**Interview of Stick:**

**Stick:** I know, I know, you don’t want me here, so stop giving me that look. But you and I both know that I’m the only one here with any skill in robotics and I think that…

_*There’s a slam of a hand on a desk as the interviewer, Songbird Makin, speaks*_

**Mrs. Makin:** Of course you’re the best option, Stick, but if you die where does that leave Cast City? We have barely any engineers left as it is… we rely on you to keep things functioning!

**Stick:** So what, you’re going to send in a _kid?_ I’ve seen who’s been coming through these doors — I’ve been watching all day. You know who most of them are, Songbird? There _my_ students! All the kids I’ve taught over the years!

**Mrs. Makin:** They have the skills…

_*Stick lets out a laugh that has an angry ring to it*_

**Stick:** Of course they do! I taught them, I know what they’re capable of! But I won’t let you send them in! That place — it’s _dangerous_ , and I will never forgive myself if one of them dies.

_*Mrs. Makin gives a heavy sigh*_

**Mrs. Makin:** This is the apocalypse, Stick. _Everyone_ has shortened life spans.

**Stick:** That goes for me as well. Interview me, Songbird.

_*There is a long pause*_

**Stick:** Songbird, come on. You know I won’t leave till you do.

_*Another long pause, before Mrs. Makin lets out a frustrated sigh*_

**Mrs. Makin:** If you get yourself killed in there, Stick, I will never forgive you, do you understand me?

_*Mrs. Makin clears her throat loudly, and paperwork can be heard shuffling in the background*_

**Mrs. Makin:** Right. State your name, your age, and your relevant skills for the recorder, please.

**Stick:** My name is Stick — I don’t go by a last name. I am thirty-nine years old, I will be forty coming up soon. I have been, for the past twenty years, Head Engineer. I take care of the infrastructure of Cast City. These are my relevant skills. Alongside that, when I was twelve I was separated from my family and survived in the wasteland on my own for four years. I am adaptable and I am able to function, even when in a great deal of pain.

**Mrs. Makin:** Not a skill I hope will be relevant.

**Stick:** Hope isn’t a good thing to make bets on when it comes to these things. Along with these skills, I have more knowledge than anyone else here regarding how robots physically function. I have read through every old blueprint we have in our possession, and last year I successfully engineered a small bot who helps garden. And finally, I am an excellent note-taker due to my experience with lesson-planning for the many, many children I teach. The children who _you_ want to send into the Quarantined Zone.

_*Another heavy sigh, then Mrs. Makin speaks*_

**Mrs. Makin:** You’ve already gotten your way, Stick. No need to keep pushing.

_*There is a rustling of papers*_

**Mrs. Makin:** Are aware of the protocol we’ve set when entering through the boundaries of the Quarantined Zone?

**Interview paused:**

_I would like to add in a bit of detail here. During the period of this interview, there was exceedingly limited knowledge of what lay in the robots’ domain. However, when all reports of robot sightings across the years had been cross-examined, a trend was observed._

_The robots seemed to have a form of fifties aesthetic that they adhered to. This could be observed in the rouge robot Piston, and due to his violent behavior when Nuke had apparently said something that made him ‘glitch out’, it was declared as protocol that to avoid upsetting the balance, the foreign agent would have to be very careful with how they presented themselves. Specifically, era-appropriate gender presentation would have to be utilized._

_Mrs. Makin specifically asks the following question because she is aware of the fact that Stick is nonbinary._

**Interview resumed:**

**Stick:** Yes, I’m aware.

**Mrs. Makin:** And?

**Stick:** Male. I’ll be male for this.

**Mrs. Makin:** Your reasoning?

**Stick:** Well, the robots seem to think they’re stuck in the fifties, right? More privilege, less restrictions…

_*Another pause as the sound of a pen scratching can be heard*_

**Mrs. Makin:** Right. Your interview is being processed.

**Stick:** And?

**Mrs. Makin** : Go over to Hope’s shop — she and her husband are going to set you up with a costume and supplies.

**Stick:** Thank you.

_*Stick rises to leave, the sound of rustling fabric as they get up from their chair*_

**Mrs. Makin:** Stick…

_*Movement pauses*_

**Mrs. Makin:** Good luck, Stick. Be careful.

**Stick:** I’ll be fine, Songbird. Don’t worry. I’ve gone through worse.

**Interview ends**

_Before this story continues, it is my duty to inform you that Songbird Makin’s worry was well placed for her friend. Stick, a survivor by nature, was far more prepared than most to go into the city of metal and oil. They were not, however, prepared enough._

_Stick was outfitted by the local leaders before being sent out. They carried with them supplies that will be listed now._

_Rust colored paint was applied to their skin before they entered the boundary, as well as a metal headpiece of the same color. Their clothes were made up of flexible metal sheets that clung to their body in a mimicry of a suit. They appeared, for all intents and purposes, like an old partially broken-down machine._

_On their back was a backpack, camouflaged as a protrusion of their metal shell. Contained in the backpack were_ _rations of food and_ _water, estimated to to last them a week if they were very careful. In addition, they had rope, a gun, a notebook and pencil, and a kit of tools. They also had a watch, set to match the watches of the team that was set to monitor them._

_The most important item, however, was an object fastened about their neck — a device in the guise of a metal seal. This device allowed both recording of conversations and the playback of them, as well as communication with the team through two separate speakers._

_Through this device, they would be able to give reports to those monitoring them, as well as catalog any interesting conversations they had._

_Their goal was to discover as much as they could about the previously disregarded Quarantined Zone. To find out why these metal creatures existed and what their purpose was, reporting it back to those who sat huddled around the radio that had been rigged to record for this specific purpose._

_So ends the events that took place previous to the journey into the robots’ city — a journey that I’m sorry to say would end quite tragically over the course of three days._


	2. Part Two

**Audio Logs of Stick, 6 th of July, 2085**

_The audio l_ _ogs recorded by Stick run the course of three entire days, with two reports being dispatched the first day and three reports being given the following two._

_There were designated times that Stick was to contact the outside world. Upon observing the radio frequencies that bounced about the quarantined zone, it was discovered that there were several that were not in use during certain periods of the day. When utilized properly, Stick’s reports could go entirely undetected while they were in the city._

_For seven of these reports, this is exactly how it is used. The final eighth report is the exception to this rule._

_The designated time slots for these logs were as follows:_

**5:00 AM to 6:00 AM**

**5:00 PM to 5:45 PM**

**11:00 PM to 12:45 AM**

_Each call was to be made on a separate frequency, specifically during the period when each channel was ‘dead’. That would protect both Stick and the team that monitored them from any chance of detection. For the team’s part, they were instructed not to return contact — a rule that would be broken by the second day._

_Stick’s first report came in at 5:00 and was received by an anxious staff gathered about the radio in a small cramped room. It is here that I enter into the story. I remember this room, and for the sake of a more full story, will relay what it looked like._

_The room itself was designed to comfortably hold three people. A large table with metal legs and a dinged metal top had been positioned the center, the radio equipment on top of it. No one commented on the dispatcher connected to the side of the box of wires, at least not when we first arrived._

_The room was hot and_ _under-furnished. On top of that, there were six of us. Most of us stood, while a select few sat by the radio which had long been tuned to the correct frequency. A distorted talk show was playing on it, though the words were impossible to make out._

_We waited for Stick’s first contact, our breaths baited. For all our fear, we were all struck with curiosity of what was to come. Needless to say, when that garbled mess of a show ended and the airway went to static, a pulse of dreadful excitement washed through the room as we received our first communication from Stick._

**Begin Audio Log 1#, timestamps 5:00 PM to 5:30 PM**

_*There is some static, before Stick begins to speak in a low practiced voice*_

This is Stick, reporting back to base camp. The time is 5:00 PM and it is time for me to make my first statement.

*They pause, and the distinct sounded of Stick clearing their throat can be heard*

The journey so far has been trying. The air here is… choking. There isn’t any smog, no smoke, nothing like that. But… there’s something in it that humans aren’t meant to breathe. Fuck, there’s something in it that _nothing_ was meant to breathe. Honestly, I thought the wasteland was scarce on animals, but this area really put me in my place.

There isn’t anything alive in here as far as I can tell. It’s all just… metal. Metal, and gears, and oil. Not to say that there isn’t anything that _looks_ like animals. The robots have gone so far as to create replicas of animals out of the materials they’re fabricated from.

While I was walking across the desert, I saw what I thought was a pigeon. It took me a second to realize what was wrong with it. I felt pretty dumb when I finally saw the large windup screw in its back. I actually watched it… die? No, that’s not the right word. The windup screw just stopped moving. I think it would have started moving again if I wound it up, but there was no way I was going to do that.

_*Stick coughs, and there is a distinct sound of phlegm to it*_

To be honest with you, I think the air’s already affecting me. I’ve had a cough that just seems to be getting worse the further in I travel. I’m beginning to wish I’d brought some sort of gas mask… but now’s not the time for regret, I suppose.

_*They let out a slight sigh*_

The paint provided by Hope has stuck well thus far, though I fear the condition my skin will be when I finally wash it off when I return home. I can feel a slight burning. Think I might be allergic to something in it. Still, it’s bearable as long as I don’t think about it.

_*They clear their throat again, the sound wet and unhealthy*_

It took me six hours to get to the first sign of civilization. I honestly thought it was a mirage at first, but then I saw the floating cars navigating above it.

It was a small town, the planning mimicking an urban settlement from, as indeed we suspected, the fifties. The small townhouses were scattered alongside other amenities, such as diners, and what I can only assume was some sort of movie theater.

I went unnoticed as I walked through the streets. What struck me is odd is that for the most part, the robots, well, they follow no strict code of design. I guess that the blueprints I looked at aren’t going to be as much help as I was hoping. All of them seem to be cobbled together, though for the most part most of them seem humanoid.

Note I say _most_ of them.

_*Stick lets out a laugh that seems somewhat uneasy*_

I stubbed my toe on red fire hydrant. It asked me if I was okay. I’ll admit, that was a bit of a shock, though I did recover quickly enough. Just said I was fine and walked off.

Things just got weirder the more I wandered about. It seemed to be a fairly quiet day, idealistic even, if it hadn’t been for the choking smell. God, the smell. I feel I better note it for you, because it is disgusting. Putrid, even.

It’s a mixture of oil and something fouler. More… biodegradable? Does that make sense? I don’t know where it’s coming from, but the entire town emits hints of it wherever you walk. It’s insidious, sneaking up your fucking nose when you least expect it.

_*Another wet and sickly sounding cough*_

Ah, but I digress. I did notice something, though. Something odd. I regret to say that I don’t know when it happened, but sometimes while I was approaching the town, the sky changed color.

Our sky, the _normal_ sky. The one that always has a sickly green hue to it, along with the oranges and reds that color the heavens above. The toxins in the atmosphere that continually cause crops to fail when we try and plant them outside without the assistance of the greenhouse. You know, the sky of the damned apocalypse!

Here though, the sky is a bright and clear and very blue, with a shining sun overhead. There’s even fluffy white clouds, like something from a very outdated children’s picture book. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Obviously, it’s not real… there’s no _way_ it’s real.

My guess is that somewhere, there is some sort of projector that’s putting the image up in the sky. After all, when I breathe, I can still tell that this is the same air we have back at home; _worse_ than the air back home. I’ve added it into my notes as something to look into, but I suspect its source was not in that small town. After all, something like that would have to be big and so, so very advanced.

Honestly, to be able to cloak the entire sky like that, I can only imagine the technology that would require. These robots look like broken-down shells, but there’s something more to them. They’re too… _agile_ , too varied.

I listened to the robots as they spoke to one another in the streets. I’d just slow down and eavesdrop on conversations. It’s here I think, where the programing really fails them. Their conversations were stilted, artificial. A mimicry of conversations you’d expect to hear from an older film. They weren’t meaningful, for the most part. And though I tried to listen in, there was little to be gathered from what they were saying.

However, observing them once again cemented the idea the idea that this is indeed a place stuck in a rather awkward point of what I can only describe as human history. The women appear to have welded-on copper high heels. They are limited, and their designs are also limited as to how they can appear.

While the designated males have a variety of shapes, the woman simply take on the appearance of what a standard housewife would look like. There is very little diversity, making me grateful that I chose to be a male as my cover. I do not think even Hope with her careful planning could have crafted me into what would have been expected of someone bearing that gender.

My stay in this town was brief. I will confess to being unnerved, for it felt as though the entire place was in some way alive. Between the fire hydrant and a mechanical dog that nearly caused me to fall on my face, I was eager to get out of the town as soon as possible. There is of course more I could say, but I will keep this brief, saving my longer report for this evening.

After spending some time in that small town, I needed direction, and luckily I managed to find it.

_*Stick pauses and this time their coughing fit is significantly longer, lasting a good minute*_

Ah, shit. Sorry. I’ve had a frog in my throat ever since I arrived here… now, where was I? Oh right, there’s a _city!_ A whole damned city, called — wait till you hear this stellar name — _Robot City._

*They let out a scoff*

Well, I suppose creativity wasn’t something high on their list when they named it. Regardless, I decided that’s where I should go to get some answers to what was going on.

As of now, I’ve boarded the ‘train’. I must confess, getting onboard was quite a task. I needed a ticket, you see, and I figured the ticket seller wasn’t just going to hand me one out of good will.

In a stroke of luck, the currency that they were asking for happened to be nuts. This might seem reasonable at first, until I tell you that when I had previously passed the dinner, I saw robots ‘eating’ plates of the exact same thing drenched in oil.

Weird, I know, but hey, I’m not here to tell them how to run their world. If they want to eat their money, that’s not my business. Going to level with you, not sure what it all means, but I did have enough sense to snag a half ‘eaten’ plate from a table and fill my pockets with leftovers.

The ticket vendor accepted my payment, and to my relief I was able to get onboard the ‘train’.

_*Stick takes another moment to cough*_

You might wonder why I keep feeling the need to emphasize ‘train’ when I speak. The thing is, this machine that I am on is not a train at all. It is in fact, some sort of hybrid blimp. At the moment, we’re soaring up in the air about a thousand feet up or so.

I am hiding in the bathroom onboard. Why robots need a bathroom is beyond me, though judging by the oil stains inside of the toilet bowl, I can confirm that they do expel _something_ while they are inside here. Honestly, I’d rather not think about it.

_*Stick pauses and the sound of some sort of intercom can faintly be heard*_

I think our destination is drawing close, so I hope to have a detailed report of the city when I next speak with you. I better get out of here quickly. No one’s come knocking on the door yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Until later, this is Stick signing off.

**End of Audio Log**

_Needless to say, there was already worry within the room. Stick wasn’t known to cough on the regular, and they were healthy when they had begun their journey. The reaction they were having to the air was extreme, and it was surmised that the atmosphere around them was far more toxic that they had guessed. Likely, breathing in that air was shaving years off their life._

_However, those in the room were unable to do anything about it other than sit and wait for the next radio log. The general agreement was that it was already far too late to call off what had already started, and we’d simply deal with the consequences when Stick made their return._

_Some notable details to keep in mind before we go to the next log are as follows:_

_Firstly, Stick describes the absurd design of the ‘_ _train’, questioning why it is called what it is._

_I am no expert, and I would hazard that I am nowhere as near as smart as Stick is. Sorry, they_ were _…_

_However, if I might speculate, I think that it is for the same reason that there were diners present in the town, even though robots would not technically need to eat. It was all for the image of the thing._

_The aesthetic is important to remember, because it plays into almost everything that Stick experiences from here on out. The people they encounter, the city they find… all of it just boiled down to fucking aesthetics._

_The final bit of information to keep in mind is the sky. It is no small detail that there is a blue projection over the town, while the rest of the world has crumbled down into a rather dismal sate. A small detail, as noted by Stick, but a relevant one._

_Stick’s next audio log came at 11:00 PM and lasted through almost the entire allotted time slot to the point where some researches did fear they would go over. That, however, proved to be a baseless worry as Stick carefully shut off the recording before their time had run out._

**Begin Audio Log 2#, timestamps 11:00 PM to 12:44 AM.**

_*Rustling and more coughing as Stick seems go get settled. When they speak, their voice is a whisper and is slightly harder to hear than the previous log*_

There’s a city! A whole damn city of them! When I got a ticket to Robot City, I admit I was more thinking along the lines of _our_ city. Small, more of a town than an actual city. Maybe a hundred of the metal bastards about.

But this, _this_ is a proper city! There has to be thousands of them here, _thousands_! When I first stepped off the blimp and onto the crowded platform I could barely believe my eyes. There were just so damn many that my mind was overwhelmed for a good few seconds.

_*They pause, coughing faintly in the background as something rustles. The sound of what can only be described as traffic can be heard somewhere off in the distance. When Stick speaks next, their mouth is clearly full*_

The architecture here is… bizarre. I’d say it was a cross between steampunk and what the people of the fifties thought the future would look like. As we were flying in, I got a good look at the sprawling landscape below us. Everything is so oddly… _round._ No rough edges, just weirdly ball-shaped buildings that slowly wind down, balanced on platforms that are balanced on even more platforms.

Then there’s the goddamn travel system… don’t even get me started on that. I watched robots getting on and off of it. It locks you in a mesh metal cage and just hits you all about the city! Sends you flying!

It’s like the world’s most dangerous amusement park. Honestly, I’m not even sure how the robots make it out in one piece — the thing’s a goddamn deathtrap. If a human were ever to get caught in that, god… they wouldn’t survive the journey in one piece.

In the station, there’s massive gears embedded in the looming metal walls. I’m an engineer, and I haven’t the faintest idea what they’re used for. Needless to say, I made my way out of the station as soon as possible. Too many robots, and I was afraid that even with Hope’s exceptional paint job, someone might stop me to ask questions.

So, I went down. Where to begin with everything I saw? The sights were just…

_*They trail off, seeming to lose their train of thought somewhat*_

Well, I have to start _somewhere_ , so let’s start with Bigweld. Apparently, this place functions on the very faulty system of capitalism. It seems that, during some prior period of time there was some sort of… of CEO, I think? His name was Bigweld from what I can gather, but recently someone else has taken over his company, I suppose.

Honestly, I’m not sure what exactly is going on. There’s no sort of official title attached to Bigweld, but he simply seems to be in charge. Up until recently, he vanished, and another robot took his place.

All of this isn’t important, though.

I found his building by chance. It took me a good long time to reach this structure, considering the travel system the robots were using was right out. I must have walked for an hour through winding buildings to end up there. Honestly, I’m a bit nervous about trying to find my way back to the station after that journey.

Something about it though, it drew my eye. It’s toweringly huge and clearly important, which made me eager to get close to it. I wanted to try and get a look inside. See, I was wondering if that place was where all of… of _this_ , this place came from. Whether the explanation to why it exists was _somewhere_ in there.

Also, not important, but of note is the fact that the gate is shaped like some sort of smiling face. Quite frankly, it’s nightmarish, but that seems to be a running theme with most of the things here.

Didn’t get too far when I tried to approach the building. I was accosted at the gate by what appeared to be a small doll-like robot named Tim. He’s actually the whole reason I know about Bigweld.

I tried to figure out what model he might have been as he talked. He looked like something you might have seen at an amusement park, a small animatronic that pops up in a display with others of his kind.

But, he was far more intelligent than those little things.

Intelligent… I’m still not sure if that’s the right word. Sure, these robots act like they’ve got operating wills, but there’s something off. I’m not sure what it is, not yet. I took the liberty of recording our conversation, I figured it would be of interest and I didn’t want to forgot anything important.

**Pause in Audio Log**

_At this point, Stick plays the audio they have recorded. Though it is distorted, you can hear most of what is being said. No doubt if we’d managed to recover the actual recorder device that the audio file was taken on, we would have a much clearer translation of what happened. However, as it stands now, we can only try and make out what was being said._

**Return to Audio Log**

_*Stick rustles about, switching on the audio recorder around their neck. It seems the conversation has already begun, and the audio recording begins in the middle*_

**Tim:** So many robots walking up to this gate and expecting to be let inside! How many times I gotta say it, this ain’t Bigweld’s place anymore.

**Stick:** So, Bigweld was the owner of this building?

**Tim:** What, have you been living under a _rock,_ or something? Who doesn’t know about Bigweld?!

**Stick:** I know who Bigweld is, I just didn’t know this was his place of work.

**Tim:** What, you never watched his show when you were a kid?

_*Stick pauses here for a second, and the audio recorder gives off some static as they seem to shift it about their neck, possibly a slight nervous tick. When we return, it seems they’ve already said something to Tim*_

**Tim:** We have an audio segment? Huh, the things they don’t tell me. But seriously, guy, _scram_. I don’t care what idea you’re peddling, and neither does the guy inside. You’re two years too late.

**Stick:** I don’t suppose I could just go in and look around?

_*Once more there is audio distortion and Tim’s reply is lost in it*_

**Stick:** Are you sure? I’m just curious.

**Tim:** Okay wise guy, you also interested in our security system?

**Stick:** A little bit, yeah.

_*At this point everything becomes to distorted to hear, other than a yell from Tim as it seems he gets the attention of the metal guards. Stick is clearly already running, aware of the peril they are in. The recorder is switched off and Stick once again starts to speak*_

I am grateful I ran into Tim, despite his obvious dislike of me and everyone else on the other side of the door. See, he introduced me to an interesting fact. Almost every robot I’ve seen in this city does not look how it was designed originally. As I said in my prior log, I was worried that my knowledge of blueprints wasn’t going to hold much weight here.

Upon arriving at the city, I’ve seen a couple whose origins I can pinpoint somewhat. A T – 02 Janitorial unit that clearly has parts missing and replaced with other, quite frankly unsuited parts. A I – 450 Butler unit whose lower half had been replaced by wheels, and whose arms were clearly from a H – 65 Washer unit.

I even saw a promotional robot. My grandfather, back when he was still with us, used to tell stories about how they rereleased this old movie back in his day so it could be experienced in the glory of 4D. If I’m not mistaken, the name of the film was Ice Age… and I believe the robot I saw was supposed to be Sid the Sloth. My grandfather had an old poster he kept around, and I recognized the character.

*Stick lets out a soft laugh*

He really did love that movie.

However, the oddest robots were the ones that Tim sent after me to drive me away. They were recognizable… because _nothing had changed about them_. M-grade A – 345 Security bots. You still see those around sometimes when you’re trying to scavenge.

Their programing is absolute. It was so hardcore, that not even the hackers of our bygone world could get into it, which was why they were so popular back with the military. They acted the exact same as well, chasing me through the streets until their order had been fulfilled.

I…

_*Stick suddenly goes quiet and there is a sudden shift of motion as they seem to press themselves into the ground. They are silent for several seconds, before they speak again*_

Sorry — sweeper bot. They’re all over the place down here. They’ve been designed to clean up the streets from trash, which from what I’ve observed, seems to include older models of robots. It seems that they’ve decided my costume puts me in that category. They’re _robots,_ and they have a _class system_ … I’m telling you, this place is bizarre. Regardless, I don’t want to get their attention.

Sorry, where was I…

_*They pause for a second, and in the background, the sound of the ambient noises coming from the city can be heard. It is interesting to note that if you listen closely, there is the sound of what sounds like pigeons cooing, which I suspect are the windup doppelgangers of pigeons described earlier by Stick*_

Right, so after I got away from the security bots, I made my way down. Turns out there’s a slum section of the city, and that’s where I’ve chosen to set up. It’s more quiet down here, away from the city above. I found some rusted old metal buildings to nestle on top of, and right now that’s where I am.

It’s down here that I saw something that made me doubt Bigweld’s building is actually the epicenter of all of this. I saw those security bots again while I was down here. They were purposefully floating down the street. It was clear that their path was mapped, and in a second I was on my feet to follow them.

The streets down here are winding and _layered_! I nearly fell through one into a lower section as I was walking on it. All along it, there are robots who are clearly falling apart. They all look worse for wear, which I assume means they’re all lower class. They paid me no mind for the most part, but this is where I had an encounter with a sweeper bot.

It’s the reason I lost track of the security bots, actually. I heard a yell from somewhere nearby, someone yelling about the sweeper bots coming.

Shit, how to describe them? They’re massive, with blue and red coloration. They’ve got a whirring set of blades on the front that plow down anything in their way. In the center of their body, there’s what appears to be a big cyclops eye.

I turned just in time to see one of those hulking machines approaching a robot whose leg seemed to have given out.

It opened up what appeared to be some sort of maw and swallowed the robot rather than eviscerating it with its blades. It wasn’t dead… is dead even the right word? It was still talking, that’s the point I’m trying to make. Yelling out for someone to get it out of the sweeper bot. No one did and the large vehicle simply carried the robot away.

I don’t know, I felt like it should have disturbed me more. Yet at the same time, something about how it happened seemed almost… intentional. The timing was just a bit too perfect, as though it had all been… coordinated.

Like watching a scene from some sort of movie, and knowing full well that that character was just meant to die. It was as though I as watching actors, acting out a scene on stage in front of me. I don’t know if that makes sense. It was weird. We’ll just leave it at that.

What happened afterwards, though, it also seemed… odd. I’d lost my quarry, the sweeper bot giving them plenty of time to get away, and I was heading back to my hiding spot when I spotted a pair of robots. You have to understand — every other conversation I’ve heard in this city seems disjointed. As though the robots are just running a conversation script back and forth between each other.

It’s like listening to NPC’s.

These ones were different, though. The two of them seemed to be chatting about Bigweld. One of them was red, his parts oddly janky, even for the cobbled together robots down here. I swear, his fucking head was some sort of grinder. It had a big ass handle coming off the top of it. He was fire truck red, and walked with a jerky gait.

The other seemed more… new. Like he belonged on a different platform than this one. He wasn’t quite the junker that his friend appeared to be. Actually, I’m not sure if they were friends. It was a bit hard to tell.

The newer one, he was blue and white. He had an almost mohawk-like ridge of metal on top of his head, and his body was a sleek blue.

He was going on about Bigweld and he seemed, more than anyone else I’d met, very invested in this other robots fate. It was bizarre to listen to, because the way he spoke was so much closer to that of an actual person. I was only half listening to him as I passed him, mostly tuning him out. My mind was elsewhere, I admit. That was until he turned to me and spoke.

I forget his exact words, but he pointed at me and said something along the lines of. ‘Like him, and me, and you! We all need Bigweld, and I don’t understand why we’re not looking for him!’

Here’s why this is odd.

Aside from Tim, who interacted with me clearly against his will, this robot was the first one to notice I existed. He seems to be able to interact with the world… differently? I have no idea what that means but I feel like it’s, relevant… somehow.

_*Stick lets out a series of really nasty coughs, before spitting something onto the rooftop*_

Well, I think that’s going to be it for tonight. We seem to be running a bit close on time. At least I feel confident, though. If I can figure out what those security bots are hiding… well. That will be good news for all of us won’t it? I’ll talk to you in a couple of hours, should give me enough time to catch a bit of shut eye. Not that I think I’ll be sleeping much here — it’s damned noisy.

_*Stick lets out a laugh*_

**Audio Log Ends**

_Stick’s coughing has clearly gotten worse, and though they don’t mention anything, there has been debate that even now, they are already injured, a theory which is supported by evidence in a later log. The damage that they are suspected to have taken is to one of their legs._

_It is quite possible that they did not fully describe their escape from the security bots in an effort to keep those on the other side as calm as possible. I think though, that Stick knew at this point just how much danger they were in._

_If I can speak from personal experience, Stick was a bright individual. They were not stupid, and they were not brash. When it came to safety, they practiced it. The fact that their behavior is so… reckless is a side effect from being overwhelmed, or so I would like to think._

_Perhaps I am too close to this._

_This was the final audio log for Stick’s first day in what we now know as Robot City. It was the first and most peaceful out of the audio logs received, for the situation as it was, spiraled very quickly by the second day._


	3. Part Three

**Audio Logs of Stick, continued:**

_It was a restless several hours before the second call came in. People milled about our small, cramp quarters, coming in and out of the dark room. They went to make themselves coffee and other amenities which they then proceeded to noisily eat._

_They flitted about anxiously, like prisoners who knew that sunrise would bring about a nasty surprise. It almost seemed as though each and every one of us had been put onto death row as we waited by that radio, listening to the static of some talkshow never meant for human ears._

_Most left the room fully at certain points to go outside and get a breath of air._

_I would describe it as an exercise in pointlessness, as all of them… of us, knew that the next report wouldn’t be for another five hours. During this time, what Stick had stated was already being compiled. We were all guessing… guessing as to what it might mean. Crumpled-up papers lay scattered across the floor. Broken pencils, used pens, and any other writing supplies littered the ground._

_Already, there was talk of a bed in our local medical center being left open and ready for Stick when they returned. Our doctors were setting it up, preparing the supplies we had to care for them. Stick was one of us after all, and they were doing this to keep us safe. The medical professionals did not forget this._

_It wasn’t just them, either._

_Even before the second day had fully begun, citizens gathered outside the small building we were monitoring Stick’s progress in. So many faces — all of them laced with a similar look. Worry and fear that we as a community shared._

_For Stick — for ourselves._

_Stick’s students and their parents sat with candles burning. I suspect the parents were grateful to Stick more than they would ever be able to express. Stick’s willingness to wander were no one else dared tread had spared their children from being the ones chosen._

_And the children — some of them no older than twelve — shared guilty expressions as they were weighed down with the idea that someone they cared about was risking their life for them._

_I glanced out only once, and I’ll never forgot how their hands shook. The night was so cold as nights in Cast City often are — but still they sat… waiting._

_It is to be noted that Stick’s call was late when it came. Apparently they overslept, something that was unsurprising due to the limited amount of rest they were getting. It was only by ten minutes, but the panic it caused was palpable in the room. I think all of us were just about ready to break our own rules and try and contact them, when the radio flicked to life._

**Audio log 3#, timestamps 5:10 Am to 5:40 AM.**

_*The audio file scratches to life and we can hear breathing — Stick seeming to be slightly out of breath*_

Sorry, sorry, I didn’t realize what time it was.

_*The sound of a yawn, followed by a bout of painful sounding coughing is heard before Stick continues*_

Didn’t sleep well, but that was expected. The city is so fucking loud! There are things moving at all times of the night, but it gets worse the later it gets. The ambient noise is enough to drive anyone nuts, I swear. Maybe it’s because I’m used to the silence of the apocalypse, I don’t know. If this is what cities sounded like, I’m not exactly sad that they’re gone.

*Stick lets out a small laugh. The laugh dies rather abruptly*

I… heard something through it, though. Some sort of sound coming from coming down _way_ below where I’m camping out.

I have to be honest, I’m not fully sure what it might have been. A sort of grinding noise? I think that’s the best way to describe it. Whatever it was, it was distinct enough to be heard, even through all the noise of this place.

Whatever it is, I think it bears investigation. I’m going to head down there today, try and figure out exactly what it was that was making all of that noise. I’m not sure why, but I have this nagging suspicion that maybe it’s linked to what I’m looking for.

_*More coughing and the sound of something wet striking the ground*_

This cough… it’s getting worse.

Not to alarm you back at HQ, but that stuff you hear me spitting up — it isn’t phlegm. Or at least, it’s not normal phlegm. It’s black — has an oily sort of sheen to it. Opalescent, even. Disgusting, really. Unhealthy beyond a shadow of a doubt. My guess is there’s something in the air that I’m breathing that’s condensing in my lungs. Clogging them up.

_*They cough again*_

My paint is still mostly intact. I’m going to have to redo some of the worn areas like my elbows and behind my knees, but otherwise, it’s holding. That burning is getting worse, though. The spots that have worn away… they’ve got a nasty rash stretching out over them. As far as I’m concerned, that’s my allergy theory confirmed, but there’s no way I’m taking it off now. I’m not willing to risk that sort of exposure.

*They let out a soft grunt of what sounds like pain as they move*

Right, sorry. Bit stiff this morning. Anyways, the good news is that other than me being mostly deprived of sleep, nothing that exciting happened last night other than the grinding. Seeing as how it’s my only clue and I know that those A – 345 bots were heading down as well... maybe it’s just wistful thinking, but hell, who knows? Maybe I’ll get lucky.

*There’s more coughing and the sound of them spitting once more*

Damn, that kind of burns my throat coming up. Hate to think what it’s doing to my lungs. Really wishing I’d brought some sort of air filtration system now, but I suppose hindsight’s twenty–twenty and all that. I’m going to try to get to somewhere private for my second audio log, so if it takes me a couple of minutes to start recording, don’t panic. I’m probably just searching for somewhere to slip off to.

_*There’s a noise from somewhere around Stick, and voices begin to filter through their recording. They are raised, and sound as though whoever is speaking is giving some sort of speech *_

Huh, that’s weird.

_*There’s shifting, which is interpreted to be Stick moving closer to the edge to take a look. The voices grow louder*_

There’s a gathering of robots below me. That sliver and blue one, the one from before, he’s there. He seems to be giving some sort of… speech?

_*Faintly, words can be heard over the audio recording but no matter how hard our people tried, we couldn’t reduce the noise on the footage to make them out. It does indeed sound like a rousing motivation speech. Stick listens for a minute, then speaks.*_

I don’t know, sounds like he’s talking about Bigweld again. He’s really got the crowd’s attention, though. Damn. Guess that gives me an opportunity to sneak by them.

*They pause again, the speech still continuing in the background*

Yeah, you know what, I’m going to let you go early. If most of the robots in this area are gathered up there, it will make it a lot easier to get down without being noticed. I’ll talk to you soon, just remember, don’t panic if the next audio log is late.

**Audio Log Ends**

_The blue and silver robot… I think a lot about that bot. Stick identified from the very beginning that he was different to some degree. That he was ‘_ _special’ in how he interacted with the world around him. As though his programming allowed him more interactions. Like an NPC with a quest._

_His abilities should have been a precursor warning, or at least a sign that he would be trouble. But how were we… how was I supposed to know? How could have I predicted what would have happened? I just keep thinking back on it, putting it through my memory again and again and… I… I’m sorry. This is an official report._

_The next audio log came at 5:05 AM, late as Stick had predicted. Their predictions that this recording would take a bit longer put everyone more at ease, so there was less of a panic when the designated time passed. However, one the recording began, that ease was quick to fade._

**Audio Log 4#, timestamps 5:05 Am to 5:43 AM**

*The distortion in this audio log is worse than any before it. When it is first switched on, all that can be heard is the rumbling of machinery in the background, followed by what sounds like metal tearing through metal. Voices echo out, bouncing off the walls cause even more of an audio disturbance and Stick’s voice is a bit difficult to hear*

So, I figured out where all that grinding was coming from. From what I’ve overheard, this place is called “the Chop Shop”. While I was wandering about looking for a sign of where to go, I caught sight of a sweeper. I remembered what had happened yesterday, so I followed it.

We went deep, deep down into the city — down to the very bottom, I think. There’s junk piled up down here. It looks like some sort of scrapyard you’d find over on our side of the world.

The Chop Shop… where to begin? I heard the word used today by a couple of robots hidden away in the shadows as I passed. They ignored me, which was all well and good for me, but their words gave me valuable insight.

The Chop Shop is located through this evil-looking door way down below, and it’s, well… it’s a chop shop. They're chopping up and melting down metal, regardless of if it’s moving or not.

The robots who get grabbed above — they’re literally getting chopped up and thrown into a fucking furnace.

_*Stick stops to take in a couple breaths, and it seems that their cough has dissipated, at least for now*_

Christ, it is so hot down here, I’m a bit worried the sweat’s going to mess up the paint job. That doesn’t matter, though. I don’t intend to get seen.

When I first walked in here, it honestly looked like I’d walked into some sort of horror movie. There are massive conveyer belts moving into the maws of glowing boilers. The room about me is piled with metal junk. _Piled!_

Discarded robot parts, broken down cars, and everything else that the sweepers collect. It towers to the ceiling, the workload clearly far too much for the small army of robots inside this factory to deal with.

Old metal goes in and shiny bricks of new metal role out. I suppose now I know how the robots have been able to keep themselves running for as long as they have. They’re great at recycling.

_*Somewhere off in the background there’s a strangled scream and Stick let’s out a sharp breath*_

Forceable recycling. Damn — would not want to be _that_ guy. I’ve got a bit of a view from where I’m crouching, and they just took his entire lower half off.

That’s beside the point, though. These robots, the ones in the Chop Shop doing the chopping… I can identify them. I know what brand they are, and though they’ve changed somewhat, they haven’t changed much.

T3 – 45 Recycler units.

This is a good sign. More older models, all gathered together in one place. I think that whatever keeps this city running and on program — it’s here! Beneath this place! I just… I have a gut feeling about this.

_*There’s a pause as Stick muffles their coughing, no doubt in a hand or an elbow. They clear their throat and continue*_

But, here’s the problem. Those robots out there, I don’t think they’ll take to kindly to a robot like me. I’ve got a theory as to why I’m able to walk around so freely outside of this place, and it’s because there’s no programing set with how to deal with me.

I’m an anomaly that’s not so noticeable that whatever is at the center of this place recognizes me as something foreign, but just outside of the code to the point where I do not exist as interactable for most robots here.

Here though, I think these robots have plenty of potential interactions available. Plenty of interactions that would cause me severe bodily harm.

_*Stick goes quiet for a second as off in the distance a gravely voice can be heard shouting. Stick sucks in a breath through their teeth*_

Right, then there’s that. The boss of the Chop Shop. No idea what model of robot that is, can’t even begin to identify the parts. I think it’s, or rather _she’s_ , built to look intimidating above all else. Madam Gasket is her name. Honestly, she looks like something out a fever dream. Knives for fingers, and an outer casing that’s built to look more like a tank than anything.

_*Stick lets out a tired chuckle*_

So far, my favorite design, though I wouldn’t say it to her face. Her programming seems to dictate she’s some sort of lunatic. If she gets her hands on me, I have a bad feeling I’m not going to last long. The word of the day is ‘sneaky’. Very, very sneaky. I’ll talk to you soon, hopefully after I find whatever is hidden in this nightmare of a place.

**Audio log ends**

_Sneaky — a good word for what Stick was striving for. Not that they achieved it — not in the end._

_The phrase “_ _Chop Shop” has haunted me ever since I heard it crackle out over that old radio. The words ominous, a prediction of the future._

_It was hard, reliving the memories of this to document it. I would rather forget what I heard the next time the radio sprung to life. But for the sake of documentation, I must continue. After all, it’s not for my personal sake that I document this._

_So, with a heavy heart I will say that this audio log was to set the tone for the rest of the audio logs, aside from the last one. This was where all the worst case serious began to play out, began to create a nightmarish scenario that none of us back at base were sure how to deal with._

_It began on the very second of 11:00 PM, and did not stop until Stick had run out of time. Now that I’ve had some time to think, I think this was simply Stick not wanting to be alone. If this was the case, I cannot say I blame them for their actions or would have done any differently in their shoes._

**Audio Log 5#, timestamps 11:00 PM to 12:45 AM**

_*The signal comes through, but for several seconds, Stick does not speak. They are coughing rapidly, their coughs laced with gasps of what is clearly pain. There is an odd scraping every now and then, this noise followed by grunts and whimpers of obvious agony. It is clear that Stick is hurt very badly*_

The Chop Shop, I didn’t… I wasn’t sneaky enough. Wasn’t sneaky enough. Fuck I can’t even think straight right now.

_*They pause, taking in breaths that are no doubt meant to be steadying but only lead to more coughing fits. Finally they seem to once again get control of themselves*_

I guess I really am too used to the robots up here, I thought for the most part they’d ignore me as long as I stayed out of sight. No such luck, I’m afraid.

_*There’s a pause as they let out a painful shuddering breath*_

Hold on, hold on, hold on…

_*There is a noise as it seems Stick is adjusting themselves to a more comfortable position*_

I slipped. I slipped on a bunch of metal and I caused a whole lot of noise. It was my damned left leg! I… it wasn’t in the best shape. I think I might have pulled something. Regardless, it made me fall and… fuck!

_*There’s a clang and a slurry of cursing*_

I’m sorry, I just, it hurts so much right now. It’s hard to think straight. You know, I said that I was used to pain, but this… this wasn’t what I was talking about.

_*Heavy breathing followed by severe coughing. Finally, they speak again, their voice somewhat faint*_

I’m just… I’m going to play you the audio file I took. It’s not too long, well actually it is but I’m going to fast-forward through parts of it. There’s not need for you to… to hear… you’ll see.

Thank fuck I had enough sense to switch it on when I realized I’d been spotted. I’m really glad that I did. Actually, I’m not sure if ‘glad’ is the right word, but it’s good that I did. It should explain what happened without me actually having to explain, which is good because…

_*Stick takes in a shuddering breath*_

I honestly don’t know if I can right now.

_*This audio file that Stick plays for us is even more distorted than the previous one. Along with its own natural distortions, the sound of pained breathing and soft groans can be heard throughout as Stick seems to try to get comfortable to some degree. The nature of their injury at this point is still a mystery, but it is clear that whatever it is, it’s causing them significant pain*_

**Stick:** Shit, shit, shit!

_*There is a sound which clearly translates to them trying to crawl away over metal. In the background, sounds of creaking and scraping metal fill the air as something clearly makes its way towards Stick*_

**Madam Gasket:** What was that!? Did one of you knock something over!? You know that will come out of your paycheck!

_*There’s a sudden stop. The ambient noises of the Chop Shop die down a bit, leaving an ominous silence in their wake*_

**Madam Gasket:** Well, look at that! It _wasn’t_ one of you! Looks like we’ve got an outmode, boys.

**Stick:** Nope, not an outmode, just a bit lost.

*Stick is clearly out of breath and there is obvious confusion in their voice. It is clear they are unaware of what the term ‘outmode’ means*

**Madam Gasket:** Sounds like something an outmode would say! Shouldn’t you be on the conveyer belt?

*The question is followed up by a rather horrific sounding laugh*

**Stick:** Listen, you’ve got the wrong robot. I’m not an outmode, I was just sent down here to do a… security check.

**Madam Gasket:** Do I look like I was built yesterday? If you’re here to do a security check, then why are you sneaking around? And why are you all rusted up? No, no. You’re an intruder… and you know what we do with intruders, boy?

_*Stick does not respond, clearly attempting to scramble away. Whatever contraption that Madam Gasket is connected to — it is clearly quite maneuverable. There is a rush of air and Stick lets out a yelp as they are grabbed by something*_

**Madam Gasket:** We feed ‘em to the furnace!

_*There’s a heavy sound as Stick is clearly thrown. There’s a couple seconds of them scrambling about, clearly trying to get their bearings and then there’s another sound. It begins with a whirring blade and a swish of air, and ends with the sickening sound of flesh being torn. Stick’s scream echoes out, but just before it reaches its peak, Stick switches off their recording. For a second there is silence, and then they speak*_

It was an arm. One of those damn recycler bots, they moved too quickly for me. My right arm, specifically. Guess I should be grateful I’m left-handed, but…

_*The trail off and are quiet for a second, before they clear their throat*_

I don’t know how… how I got out. I rolled off the conveyer belt and I hit the ground hard. No idea how I didn’t break anything. Of course, I suppose there is a chance that I _did_ break something, and I just haven’t felt it yet. I seem to be able to walk fine so far, though.

My blood is what saved me… I think. It went everywhere when the bot… when it sawed my arm off. It sprayed all across the metal parts and up into the robots faces. I think that it messed with their programming a bit… all that blood.

Or oil, as Madam Gasket called it. I guess that’s what the programming decided it was. Oil.

Makes no sense if you think about it. I’ve seen them eating oil, but I guess they bleed it as well? This world is a fucking nightmare.

_*They laugh, their bone-tiredness showing through as the laugh itself sounds hollow*_

Regardless, I go out. Managed to make it out to the door. I was bleeding heavily. Honestly, I was fairly sure I was going to die just from the blood loss. I lost five toes, back when I was a child. Had them sliced off when I unbalanced a bit of metal and a sharp shard fell across them. I used to think that was the most blood I’d ever see come from myself.

Now I know better, I guess.

It would have taken a miracle to save me. That’s what I thought.

God, I hate myself now. Running through the streets, looking up towards that fake sky and hoping something up there would protect me. Silently begging for help in my head.

I got help, but… fuck me. Just, fuck me. I don’t want to describe what happened. The good news is, I don’t have to. I never turned off my audio recorder when I was running out of the Chop Shop. I’ll let it play and you can listen. I think what happened is pretty clear.

_*Stick stops talking and we where the rapid fast-forwarding of noises as they seem to search for the right place to show us. After a couple of false starts they finally stop, and the audio recording plays. It begins with what is clearly Stick, running frantically up a street*_

**Stick:** Fuck, fuck, FUCK!

_*It is clear they aren’t being as careful as they normally are, the pain of losing an arm making them act more brash. Ahead of them, a voice can be heard*_

**Unknown voice, later identified as ‘** **Fender’:** Step right up! Step right up! Rodney Copperbottom’s here to fix us Rusties, free of charge!

_*The excited murmurs of a crowd rise as Stick continues to make their way forward. They seem to be ignoring everything happening around them, before a collective gasp can be heard from the crowd. Stick’s movement abruptly comes to a halt as it seems they are blocked by a robot of some regard*_

**Fender:** Good lord sir, you are leaking oil everywhere! What on earth happened to you?

_*Stick is clearly confused as to why they’ve been stopped. As they’ve articulated earlier, they suspected that these robots did not have the programming to interact with someone like Stick*_

**Stick:** Chop Shop?

**Fender:** Ah, a sweeper survivor! Three cheers for you! Let’s see if we can move you up in line.

_*There are groans from the crowd.”_

**Stick:** Move me up in line…?

_*Their question is ignored*_

**Fender:** OY RODNEY! We’ve got a real leaker out here! Just got free from the Chop Shop!

_*There is a commotion as someone approaches*_

**Rodney:** Oh, good grief! That’s a bad one! Why’s there so much oil, though?

**Fender:** Our friend here must have gotten a little carried away the last time he lubed himself up. No judgment here, sir! Will fix you up regardless.

**Stick:** No, no thank you. You, you should focus on everyone else. Really, I’m fine.

_*There is obvious fear in their voice now as they seem to come to a realization as to what’s being offered. It is clear that even through the pain of losing a limb, they aren’t so far gone that they don’t understand what’s about to happen*_

**Rodney:** No, no, we have to fix you up and now. An oil leak like that, that looks serious! I’ve got some spare parts that I’ve managed to rustle up. It won’t match your other arm, but it’ll be functional.

**Stick:** NO!

_*There is a sudden silence as all the robots around them go quiet. Sticks lets out a breath as there’s a strange sound. Metal rubbing together, and it sounds like the words being said around them begin to slur. It mimics what Mr. Marshall reported prior to this incident, and it’s clear Stick realizes what is about to happen*_

**Stick:** I mean… no. That’s far too generous of you. I couldn’t ask you to do that.

*Abruptly, the audio returns to normal*

**Rodney:** Oh, not at all, that’s why I’m here! I’m here to help!

_*There’s the sound of movement as Stick is clearly grabbed and hustled over through a crowd. Stick’s breathing is rough and scared — they’re clearly panicking, but doing their best to hide it*_

**Rodney:** What’s your name?

**Stick:** Glen, Glen Drill.

_*Glen was the name that Stick had been given to use before they left. Drill, I assume, was the best they could think up in the moment*_

**Rodney:** It’s a pleasure to meet you Glen, and I assure you there’s no reason to be nervous. I know what I’m doing.

**Fender:** It’s true, I’ve seen him fix up even the most busted up Rusties down here.

**Stick:** I’m sure you’re very talented…

*There’s the sound of machinery whirring and metal clanking*

**Rodney:** Now just hold still — it might pinch when I reach it. I have to say, Mr. Glen, I haven’t ever seen a chassis quite like yours, but I believe I can see where the connecters go.

_*The recording is clicked off by Stick. They are silent for a second, before they speak again*_

I think the worst part about all of it was the fact that I couldn’t scream. I really wanted to as that metal arm was drilled into my shoulder bone, but I had to bite my tongue.

When I said no, a look passed over them. My words went so against their programming, that I knew then and there that if I didn’t tell them they could fix me, they’d have torn me apart on the street in a second. It was, terrifying… their eyes just went… blank. As though all their scripts had been halted. Then, when I took back my words, it was as though it had never happened.

The second voice, he was the red robot from before. Fender, I think his name was. Caught it at the very end when he and Rodney were talking.

_*Stick takes in a shudder of a breath*_

I won’t say how painful it was to have a metal arm drilled into my shoulder. I will say I vomited after I was out of sight, and that an unexpected side effect of the tools that were used on me was that my injury appears to have been cauterized, stemming any further bleeding.

As for the arm… it hangs on me like dead weight, pulling at my bone and flesh. It’s horribly painful, but it’s been screwed in so tight that I don’t think I can actually get it loose without breaking off more bone. The thing weighs a good thirty pounds or so, and it’s just dangling off my shoulder.

God, I want it off of me!

_*Their voice rises, panic in it as there’s more clanking on the other end. Finally, after a couple of seconds they seem to settle back down*_

I was right, though… the thing I’m looking for, it _is_ under the Chop Shop. I saw it while I was retreating, partially buried under metal. There’s a door. It’s not built like the rest of this fucking place. It’s sleek, obsidian and dark. There are faded words stenciled on the outside that have been worn away over time. It was so out of place in that fiery hell.

_*They pause*_

I’m going back down tomorrow. Even with a missing arm and this horrible thing attached to my shoulder, I’m going back down! I’ve come too far to give up now. I’m going to get as much rest as possible, try and think up a game plan.

I don’t know what’s worse, the exhaustion or the pain.

I’ll let you know tomorrow what I attempt. I… I’ve gone on speaking for too long haven’t I? Goodnight.

**Audio Log Ends**

_Pandemonium followed this audio log, which is of course to be expected. It was almost funny how quickly the rules we ourselves put in place crumbled at the gory description of what had happened to Stick. We were all scared, frantically passing the message of their injuries onto the doctors._

_I think… I think we all knew. Knew that with an injury like that, it would be almost impossible for them to get out of the city. Thirty pounds of deadweight forcefully attached to a broken body… the thought makes me want to vomit._

_We broke our rule that night. We sent out a message. It was simple and quick, though it would require all of us to sign a lot of paperwork later when the higher ups realized what we’d done. Even though, I think the higher ups understood why we did it._

**Cast City’s Audio question and response, timestamp 1:03 AM to 1:05 AM**

Stick, this is the monitoring team speaking! Do you need evacuation? Please, respond now! Disregard the rules and please respond! Do we need to evacuate you?

_*Brief pause, before Stick responds*_

We both know you can’t.

**Audio question and response ends**


	4. Part Four

**Audio Logs of Stick, continued:**

_After the unauthorized call to Stick that evening, the team in Cast City was disciplined, some of the perpetrators being removed from the group. It was cited that, due to the circumstances in which Stick found themselves, there was a high likelihood that communication between them and the team were likely to become even more upsetting. Leaving the more reactionary members in the group was simply asking for trouble._

_What was originally a group of six became a group of four as the two main offenders were removed. They were marched out through the crowd of gathered people, who lobbed questions at them and those who took them away._

_The news of Stick’s injuries had been contained, but the discontent that was being shown had proven to the citizens that something had gone wrong. You could see it in their eyes — that fear of the unknown._

_Half the city was in attendance. Some came out of worry for Stick — others out of worry for themselves. Cast City has never experienced the devastating power of a mob, but I think as the officials shouldered through the angered crowd, we came close that day._

_Outside, the people crowded about the officials, demanding answers in furious voices. Flinging words like stones — words born from panic and fear. The officials were forced to retreat as citizens banged on the outpost’s doors, demanding answers. They were only placated when told that they would receive news by the end of the day._

_It was a half lie. I don’t think any of us were ready to tell them what had actually happened in the robot’s city… what had happened to Stick. The information we prepared for release was nothing more than scraps — purposefully left vague so that the citizens didn’t have all the answers._

_Inside the building, those who were left gathered closely around the radio. The silence was so… overwhelming. I suspect that Stick was in a similar state to us, though I know I will never know for sure. Waiting for the hours to pass, so they could once again speak with us. Alone in that city of metal and oil._

_No one had slept well since it had all begun, and no one slept at all after the last report._

_We all waited for the designated time. Waited to see if Stick had survived the night, despite their injuries. Waited to see if they really intended to try and go back to the Chop Shop._

_At 5:00 AM, we got our answer._

**Audio Log #6, Timestamps 5:00 AM to 5:30 AM**

_*The recorder flicks to life, and there is silence for several seconds, aside from the sound of breathing. Finally, Stick seems to get ahold of themselves and they speak*_

The wound… it’s definitely infected. No idea how it happened so fast, but there it is. I can feel… heat emitting out of it. The metal bits that were thrust in are no doubt irritating the gaping hole that used to be my arm.

_*They cough, the sound wet and far worse than it was in prior logs. They spit, and then they spit again*_

God, it’s just leaking out of me. That oily black substance… It’s disgusting, though I still have no idea what it is. I rubbed my eyes earlier and my fingers came away black and smeared. There’s a taste in my mouth, somewhere at the very back. I can’t tell if it’s sweet or sour, but it makes my stomach churn.

I keep wanting to vomit… again.

_*They let out an exhale of breath before speaking with a sudden surge of renewed vigor*_

I’ve thought about it, though, and I’m not leaving. Not yet. That door — there’s something behind it. I’m not going back, not when I’m already right here.

_*They pause, and their breathing is stuttering and harsh. After a second, it slows*_

I appreciate the offer of help though, I… it was nice to hear your voices. Nice know that someone is hearing me when I speak over this little gadget. Still, you should probably not do that again. The robots… I think they noticed to some degree. I was watching down below me when you called out to me.

There was a… a sort of wave of twitching. It seemed to roll over them, passing from one then to the next. It was uncanny to watch, but it ended as soon as the call was cut and everything returned to normal. What I’m trying to say is, don’t do it again. I can find my own way out. I’ll be okay.

_*They cough again, before going quiet*_

My arm... It still hurts like… like nothing I’ve ever experienced before — but I think I can move.

_*As though demonstrating, there’s the sound of sliding metal followed by a shuddering gasp*_

Son of a… _fuck_. Yep, still hurts… but I can move it. It’s so _heavy_. I think I’m going to try and improvise some sort of sling. I’ll be damned if that thing is going to hang off the bone in my shoulder while I’m trying to walk about.

But if I’m going down, I need to know what’s through that door. Chop Shop be damned, we _all_ need to know what’s through that door.

I did some thinking last night. About that door, about this… this fucking place. Whatever is running it, fueling it… I have to know. I have to know if there’s a reason. There are so may theories running through my head right now, _so many_! Yet, I’m not sure if even one of them is right.

_*They let out a sigh and for a second they are silent. The noises of the city can once again be heard. Finally, they seem to find their voice again*_

I have… one concern. I have no idea if I’ll be able to contact you once I’m through that door. I’ll try, but I’m just not sure… I… Our connection seemed fine last time, but I wasn’t through that door yet. Something about that door, I think it will change everything. Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but something about it feels… off.

_*They take in a sharp breath as metal scrapes in the background*_

I’m not going to say any goodbyes here. I’m not planning on dying.

_*A short pause*_

But you need to tell them, you need to know I don’t regret this. Even with everything that’s happened, I _won’t_ regret this. If it wasn’t me here, it’d be someone else.

One of my students, without a doubt. Them especially… I need them to know that I was glad to go here in their place. They’re young, they’ve got their whole life in front of them. Hell, it’s not ideal growing up in the apocalypse, but hey, it’s something.

As for me, well. I just turned forty today. I’ve had a lot longer than any of them.

_*Stick laughs, a laugh which devolves into a throaty cough*_

_‘_ Course, not how I would have chosen to spend my birthday. But I guess I can push it back a couple days till I’m home. I’ll contact you as soon as possible, I’m heading back down to the Chop Shop. Wish me luck.

**Audio Log ends**

_The infection that Stick described was… horrifying. I blanch at the thought of what a bad condition they must have been in at that point, how much physical pain they must have been suffering through. For all their talk of braving the unknown, I knew the truth. I think they knew it as well._

_If they gave up, someone else would be sent in their place. If they gave up, some young brave individual would step up and take on the burden they’d left behind._

_So, at the expense of their own health, Stick made the choice to return to the Chop Shop. I think that, all of us were trying to make peace with the idea that the chances of us ever hearing from Stick again were absolutely minimal._

_The four of us that were left… some of us wanted to try to call them again. To tell them to retreat, even though we knew they wouldn’t. But in the ended, we simply decided to wait. We waited as I prepared a statement on their death. On their sacrifice._

_Because I knew that if 5 PM passed and they hadn’t called — if the minutes ticked by and there was nothing but static — then we’d have to be ready with one. We’d have to admit to the public that we’d lost Stick._

_The hours of waiting were like none I have ever experienced before. All of us knew they were hurt and sick, attempting the impossible. We felt the weight of mountains on our shoulders as we waited for some sort of sign, some sort of promise that Stick was in fact still alive. Still okay. Still breathing._

_So we reach what Cast City officials consider to be the most important log in the set. For Stick, brave and enduring person that they were, did in fact make it through the door. They found what was on the other side, though the answers they gave us only created more questions. Still, they are the only answers we have, and so I will present them to you as such._

**Audio Log 7#, Timestamps 5:00 PM to 5:45 PM**

_*The audio springs to life, and already something has changed. The noisy ambience of the city is gone, leaving behind nothing but a faint whirring somewhere in the background. The audio here is crisp and clean, unexpected considering Stick indicated they were going underground*_

I made it… I made it through that blasted fucking door and… I’m sorry, I’m so scattered, but what I saw — it shouldn’t exist. I’m not even fully sure what it is, but I know it wasn’t… wasn’t what _any_ of us could have expected.

_*They take in a deep breath, which results in a severe coughing fit*_

Sorry, sorry, let me start from the beginning. So, I made it through the Chop Shop. The whole place seemed, well, riled up. Some sort of battle was happening, I think?

It was that damned robot again — Rodney Copperbottom. At least this time, he proved useful. He had everyone’s attention on him, every last one of them.

It made it really easy for me to sneak through, even with my new accessory.

_*A clank of metal against metal is heard, and Stick let’s out a hiss of pain*_

I made it to the door, and I got my second streak of good luck. The door wasn’t locked. I just pulled it open, and it let me inside.

The lettering outside of it… I feel like I need to mention it, because as I was walking inside, I looked at it and thought, “that’s probably important”. I could barely make it out, but I gave it a good old-fashioned try as I slipped through the opening.

There was a faded warning which I couldn’t read fully. I could tell it was a warning, though, just by how the letters had been bolded. There were only two words I could make out on it, discolored but still partially visible.

Containment and Keter.

I think there used to be words in front of it, but they’ve long since worn away. I don’t know what it means, but after what I saw… I can safely say that whatever it is, it’s bad.

When I pushed open that door, it felt like I’d entered into an entirely different world. Like stepping through a portal of sorts. It was simple enough, I suppose. Just a metal hallway… but it was just so… so… _clean._

Pristine beyond anything I’ve ever seen. The metal surfaces seemed to shine, and perfectly functioning lights were fixed to the walls above me. Functioning lights! Without a _single_ bit of wear and tear! I’ve never seen anything like it.

Their cold white light illuminated down the hall. The whole place felt chilly, like I’d stepped into some sort of icebox. It was just me and that long, long hallway.

So, I walked down it. It led, deeper and deeper, twisting and winding. All the while, the walls never changed. You know what I did see, though? Security cameras.

They weren’t functioning, hanging against the wall in sort of dead fashion. But shit, there were _cameras._ Someone was monitoring this place at one point in time.

At the end of it all, there was a door. A metal, reinforced door that stood in my way, blocking my freedom. My way in.

On that door, there’d been a lock. It looked complicated. Heavy duty. Electronic as well, judging by what the insides of it looked like. That was the thing, though — it hadn’t done shit in the end. Someone had bashed it in, and most of it lay scattered on the floor.

As though it had _just_ happened.

But I don’t think that was the case. I think that lock was broken a long time ago. Someone had been here before me, had broken in into that… place.

God only knows why! They must have wanted something… I kind of wonder if they got it.

_*Once again, Stick goes quiet before they seem to find their voice. In this particular audio clip, if you listen closely, there’s the sound of metal moving somewhere around them. A soft dragging noise that reverberates quietly in the background*_

The broken lock… I have no idea what that means. I do know what I found behind that door though. I’ll… I’ll take you through it step by step. I think it’s the only way my mind will let me focus.

When I first opened the door, the thing that hit me most was the sudden temperature change. As I stepped through then entryway, there was a sudden burst of cold. It was chilling, as though I’d been dunked into icy water. But it only lasted for a second.

The freezing feeling faded as I stepped out and I found myself standing on a metal floor. How to describe the room? Bare, utilitarian. The walls were chalk white, but unlike the hallways, obvious staining could be seen on them.

It took me a couple seconds as I stepped into the room to realize that the floor I was standing on… it was actually just a massive metal platform. There was railing at the very edge where the platform ended and way off on the other side was another door.

That door was open.

For some reason… that made me anxious. That metal door, just hanging open like that. Of course, these are all just afterthoughts. Things I took in in the background as I stared ahead.

What was in front of me? Fuck, that’s hard to describe. I spent long enough looking at it that you’d think it wouldn’t be too tricky, yet even as I look for words they just… don’t do it justice.

My eyes were drawn first, I think, to the silver wires. They were brightly colored, and were draped all over the place, circling the room all about me. They weaved through slats in the metal, climbing up those blank walls. They were laced almost artistically, ducking in and out of holes in the surrounding areas.

I traced them to their source, which was not a difficult task. All of them connected to the _thing_ in the middle.

It hung downwards, still as the grave. I’d describe it as sort of oblong in shape, with rivets all over its surface. There were concave features to it — places were the metal dipped, before rising back up to form what I interpreted as features. It almost looked like… a severed head? Maybe? I’m not sure really, but I thought I saw some curves that looked familiar.

If it was a head, the face was blank. From where I interpreted the neck would be, masses of wires ran down, down far below me. Not just wires though. Tubes also dangled down, their insides clear. Most things in this room were completely still, but those tubes twitched with life.

They were painted black by whatever flowed up them, the sticky fluids staining the sides. All of them just went up into the neck of the…

_*There’s a retching noise, followed by a significant amount of coughing*_

Sorry, sorry, it wasn’t as though it was disgusting to look at. Not in that moment at least, but then later. Those tubes.

Fuck, I need to stop thinking about it or I’m going to hurl.

_*There’s several moments of silence, then Stick resumes speaking. In the background, it sounds as though the scraping of metal is getting closer. Stick remains unaware*_

I need to emphasize the size of this damn thing. Of this damn room. It was the largest room I’d ever been in. Humongous — larger than that busted up football field that’s a couple miles away from the city. And that severed head… it towered over me. It was massive, bigger than even the biggest buildings in Cast City.

As I looked about again, I finally looked up and I saw… I don’t know. It was as though I was looking at some sort of complicated satellite image – more complicated than any picture the human mind could ever understand.

I saw everything. The town I’d been in, the city… I saw every single robot that existed in this place above me. Every single one of them. I had to look away as soon as I saw it, the very image nauseating me. It hurt my brain… it was just too complicated.

But, even in that brief glimpse, I understood something. Something that… it’s going to be hard to explain. When I looked at that picture, when I saw all those robots and all those places, every single one of them overwhelming my mind — it caused something to click.

I know what this place is. Not the place I’m in right now, but what the robots are. Imagine your brain — broken down into hundreds and thousands of components, each of your cells visible and functioning in front of you.

Have you heard of _emergent properties?_ It’s this theory from back before the bombs dropped and destroyed most of the documents and books we had on things like this.

Like, uh, take slime molds, for instance. One single organism from the slime mold — that’s nothing. Just a single-celled amoeba. Nothing particularly complicated. But if you got enough together… a sort of almost-intelligence forms.

Not a hive mind — it’s like they become one _being_. An unexpected property that crops up from all of them at once. Together, they can possess memories… hell, they can even be used as basic _biological computers_. I think that maybe, maybe this place contains an emergent property. Of course, we aren’t talking about slime molds here.

The molds could solve math equations, but this thing… it’s far beyond any sort of consciousness I’ve ever seen.

The head — it’s the center of it all, like some sort of brain stem. However, if I’m right… each robot in here, it’s part of the brain. Every single one of them an individual piece of something larger than themselves.

Why it’s fifties-themed, why it’s a capitalist hellscape, I don’t fucking know. I don’t know what this thing is, or who in the hell created it. Or _if_ it was created.

It had to have been, right? Because if it wasn’t created…

_*They trail off, going silent for a couple of seconds*_

What I do know is, I’m not an invader in a strange new land — I’m a mutation in a body. I’m the cancer cell among all the other normal cells. Or something like that… there are still so many questions and I just… I don’t know.

_*They go silent and the scraping seems to have gone quiet as well. They give a small cough into their hand before slowly starting to speak again*_

It’s just… it’s overwhelming. Being in the presence of a bit of tech like that, it was like looking at some sort of iron god. Something that is so beyond anything that you could ever understand that you don’t even want to try.

_*A shaky breath*_

But… It’s not just that either. I remember Wrench’s testimony, how the limbs could move on these robots when they came off. I thought that was strange — after all, it makes no sense does it? If you shot off something as important as a head, you should at the very least break the programming.

Robots aren’t exactly the most sturdy things — they’re like any other machine. If you pulled out a car engine, or ripped out a bit of a microwave’s insides, there would be consequences! They wouldn’t work.

But that’s not the case here. The robots can still move their limbs when they come unattached. At least, they can _sometimes_. I think it’s some sort of advanced programming — these bots, they’re way higher tech than they look.

The robotic arm attached to my bone — it doesn’t respond to me, because I’m not a robot. That makes sense, there’s no reason it should ever move. And yet…

_*Stick takes in a shuddering breath*_

As I approached the massive dangling machinery, trying to get a better look at it, I was suddenly put in intense pain. I felt the metal arm… twitching. The fingers wiggled, jerking back and forth before the hand flexed. Then, it raised itself upwards, pulling agonizingly against the flesh and bone it was seared into.

I cannot tell you how _wrong_ it feels to have a bit of your body move without your permission. Especially when it is a bit of your body that was attached without consent. Still, I watched it as it moved, spellbound despite the pain. It reached forwards, fingers opening and shutting as it grasped at the head in front of it.

Then it paused, before the hand swiveled towards me with a jerk of a motion. It paused, and in that second, I could feel the immense weight of some inhuman gaze on me. I don’t know _how_ it saw me, but it _saw_ me. It _knew_ me.

And then my arm extended out a finger and beckoned me forward.

I knew it was a bad idea, I knew that I should just get out of that room. But the pressure from that gaze, it hung on me, like a room of peers all urging you to do the stupid thing that you really really don’t want to do.

I approached.

I got the feeling there was something that whatever presence was inside that room wanted me to see. The cumulative force of all those minds woven together into a complex system was too much for me to bear.

As I walked forward up to the rail that stood between me and that giant head, I smelled it. I have no idea what it was at first, but it was more familiar than any other smell in the city.

Choking, disgusting, like a thousand carcasses left out in the sun too long. But then there was the undertone of sweetness beneath it. Chemical, like something you might smell in a doctors office or a painter’s workshop.

As I reached the edge, the arm pointed downwards. I looked down and at first, I didn’t know. I just saw… sludge. Thick and blackened, it sloshed as those clear tubes slowly pumped it upwards. I thought it was oil at first, but that smell. That smell pulled inside of my mind, insisting I look closer. So I did.

It wasn’t oil.

Fetid, rotten, organic matter was sloshing below the head, pipes feeding it upwards. Tissue and meat long since decayed. There were rotting bodies of animals, of plants, of humans. It was dissolving them, turning them into that slush as it worked its way up into the metal contraption above.

As I stared at the walls, I saw the stains of black about it. The ooze of decay, it had once reached the very top of the pit. Now though, it had been sucked down. It wasn’t all the way gone yet, but if my estimation was correct, the pit was at least a three fourths of the way empty.

Plastic, heavy duty and sturdy lined the sides of the pit, keeping the mess of congealed flesh together in a single mess. I cannot say I held in my lunch as I stared down.

I know why that robot came beyond the walls. This thing feeds on that black sludge… on _us_. Cuts our broken, pulped bodies with something synthetic and slurps us up through those tubes. I don’t know why! I don’t know who is responsible!

The idea that a human would design this… it’s unthinkable. But what’s even worse is the idea that a human didn’t make this. Because if humans _did_ make this…

_*They trail off again, coughing heavily. This last for a minute before they finally regain their breath*_

It’s careful with its fuel, I think. Conserves it. Allows the city above it to grow, its brain to grow. Because that’s what it all is up there — pointless thoughts playing out. Absurd tales to entertain itself. I think that’s why that robot I met was the way he was. I think he’s special because this thing wants him to be special. He’s the main character of a story here. The protagonist of the thudding thoughts that play out at the back of this thing’s mind.

_*They breathe in, then let out a quiet laugh*_

I made a mistake, when I was looking down at that sludge. I leaned forward.

I just wanted to get a better look, that’s all. When the arm shot out, grabbing the metal railing and attempted to fling me over the side I was completely unprepared. Its force was strong and sudden — the pull of it against my injuries so brutal that it caused me to shriek as flesh reopened and blood began to slither down rusted metal.

But even as I was pushed forward, I found my hand, my actual hand of flesh and blood, steadying myself, pulling back from where it had tried to put me in a frantic and instinctual rush.

In matters of flesh versus metal, in my experience, the flesh doesn’t win. I got lucky, though. The arm had let go, and I had an opportunity to fling myself away from the railing. Still, it thrashed like something living, pulling with a force so powerful that it nearly dragged me to my knees as it reached for the ground.

The metal shifted, the tubes seeming to pump faster.

So, I made the first intelligent choice I’d made since I’d gotten into that place. I got the fuck away from that head. My theory was that it had a sphere of influence, and after retreating back to the wall, I was proved to be _right_!

The damn thing slowly began to stop squirming, before it dropped back down, once more prone and dead. However, this peace did not last long. I don’t know when the security bots arrived, but as I backed towards the door I’d come from, I could hear them coming. There was an angry humming noise that followed them, like the sound of an agitated hive of bees.

So, I went through the other door.

I bolted along the metal catwalk, trying to avoid the sphere of influence from the wired head. I could feel it beginning to come back to life as I got a bit too close, but once again luck was on my side as I made it to the door. The fact that the door was wide open was only an afterthought in my mind now as I burst through it.

Now I wish I’d thought a bit harder.

I don’t understand what I’ve found, back in that room or further beyond. It’s an… office? No, that’s too simplistic. Rooms upon rooms of empty space, with nothing aside from metal and plastic left inside of them.

Filing cabinets that hang open empty, chairs that had been upended. It’s a nightmare to navigate — it almost feels like a labyrinth. I feel like I’m in the minotaur’s maze, but I’ve got no string to guide me out.

I’ve been thinking the same thought, over and over as I run. No human would design something like this, not unless their intention was to trap something.

Despite that, I think there is a way out. I just have to figure out how to reach it.

_*Stick takes in a deep breath, coughing again. Somewhere in the background the faint whirring of motors can be heard*_

Shit, I have to move again, but I do have a plan. If I can get away from these bots, if I can reenter the story that’s playing out above us. That’s the key, I think — to get lost in whatever plot is taking place. I’m already a character in that wretched scenario after all. If I can get back there, I think it will lose me. I think it won’t recognize what I really am.

_*The whirring gets louder and there’s thudding as it sounds like Stick begins to run. Still, they speak*_

Something has to be done about this place, though, because I don’t think that whatever this is will stop expanding til it kills all organic life around it.

That’s why that robot was wandering out. No doubt there’s some story in its head as to why it had to walk out of the city and into that car pit, but I’m sure that was planned by this… thing.

After all, that putrid sludge doesn’t look as full as it should. I suspect that this thing is running out of fuel and I’m sure that when it refills, it will refill en mass. After all, when you put gas in an engine, you don’t just put a little bit in at a time. You fill up the whole damn tank.

_*Stick starts to run faster and its clear their pursuers are nearing them. They let out slurry of curses*_

**Audio Log End**

_The idea of a robotic head that consumes organic matter to keep itself running is… absurd._

_It is also true that Stick at this point was very sick and very hurt and possibly saw something that was not there. That seems to be what our city officials would desperately like to convince us of._

_But they weren’t there. They didn’t hear Stick speak. Stick was hurt, that is true. They were sick, this is true beyond a shadow of a doubt. But they were coherent. They seemed sound of mind, and no matter how insane, I think they described exactly what they saw._

_Like them, I am stumped. I have no idea where something like that would even come from. What twisted human would create something that fed off the decaying remains of a dying world? I cannot possibly begin to theorize what its purpose is, or if it even has one. I do suspect that Stick’s summary was correct. Sooner or later, it will need more fuel._

_I know that my superiors would enjoy it if I stopped the incident report here._

_That’s what they told me when they gave me all this information and sat me down to write this case file. This was the last one that mattered._

_But it’s not, because if you leave it here, Stick’s fate is unknown. I know that’s the story they’d rather tell the public, the one they’d rather let everyone see. Let them believe that there’s a chance that Stick…_

_I’m afraid I must break professionalism here, or what little I have had throughout this report and tell you my own story. My history with Stick._

_I was among the top picks for this venture. When I applied to travel into Robot City, I was all but approved on the spot. I was scared, but I was foolhardy. I thought I had what it took, and I wanted to be a hero._

_My one mistake was telling Stick what I intended to do. They were, after all my confidant in almost everything, like another parent to me in some ways. I know I was not the only one who… not the only one who they were protecting._

_But I was one of those who was spared because of what they did._

_I have suffered every day since all of this took place, waiting for the officials of this city to let this all go public. But day after day, there’s been nothing._

_I guess I can’t blame them. What with the party preparations and all. People seem to be aware that everything is done. They saw us packing up our equipment, saw us clearing out of that cramped building._

_Some of them have guessed, but in a stubborn display of denial, people have been decorating. Preparing for Stick’s fortieth birthday. Getting it ready for them when they get back so they can celebrate it with the rest of us._

_I… Stick’s fate cannot be a mystery. They have to be told, we have to tell them. Even if it is… horrible, they have to know that Stick isn’t coming back. Not after…_

_This final audio log began at 8:37 PM. It took everyone off guard, for it was hours before the allotted time. In fact, not all of us were even in the room when this occurred. At first we were confused, but as Stick began to speak… we understood._

**Final Audio Log, timestamp 8:37 PM to 8:45 PM**

_*There is a lot of background noise, and not the normal sort that these logs tended to have. Voices could be heard close by, all of them whispering and talking among themselves*_

I’m sorry…

_*Stick’s voice is garbled, mangled. It sounds like speaking is hard for them, and every syllable they breathe is painful*_

I just… I had gotten away. I got away and I got out and then… I fucked up.

_*They let out a gargling laugh, and its obvious there’s blood in their throat*_

Do you remember when I described that mousetrap of a travel system? The one the robots were using to get around? How I said that if a human accidentally ended up in there, the results would be devastating?

_*More horrible retching, and coughing*_

I got out… _I did_. I found a way out, but those security robots were still on my tail. I just ran and I didn’t look where I was going. I was wrong about the sphere of influence. Or maybe I was right… I don’t…

_*More wet coughing and this time it’s clear that a significant amount of liquid is hitting the ground*_

There was a metal ball, open and waiting for a passenger. As I ran by, that fucking arm… the damn thing twitched to life again and made a wild grab... and I was too close. And I was right… for a couple seconds, it was like being on an amusement park ride. But then I hit the first drop and I was thrown against the side of the blasted metal cage.

_*They take in wheezing breaths as the muttering around them grows louder. From the discernible bits of conversation, it seems that the robots around them are confused. As though Stick’s broken body is something they don’t understand. Stick lets out an agonized sounding laugh*_

I cannot believe I can still talk… I’m pretty sure my jaw is broken to some degree.

But, here’s the thing. This place… I think it lost me again. When I was passing robots before, they were glitching out… but now… well, you can hear them, can’t you?

_*They go quiet again, and their words appear to be true. The hum of voices can be heard all around them, still whispering in a confused manner*_

Not that that matters, not really. See, I can’t move.

I tumbled out of the metal ball, and I’m lying on the receiving pad. The one mercy to that is that the hammer they had rigged didn’t strike me — rather, it flew directly over my head. Not that I think it could’ve done much more damage.

There’s white bone sticking out… everywhere. My legs are just crumpled. I think there’s something busted inside of me, because blood keeps leaking out of my mouth…

I… I’m not making it out. I’m so sorry… I wanted to… I tried…

_*Their words die as there’s movement somewhere behind them and a voice approaches them, calling out*_

**Voice:** Hey, Glen? Glen is that you?

_*Stick’s broken breath hitches as the sound of something metal approaches them, leaning over them*_

**Rodney:** Wow, what happened to you?

_*There’s more metal clanking as another robot seems to join him*_

**Fender:** Well geez, old boy fell apart while riding the subway! Guess your patch job wasn’t as good as you thought, Rodney. He’s going to need more than an arm replacement this time.

**Stick:** No…

*Stick lets out a horrible cry as the sound of crunching and cracking bones fill the air. It seems that one of the robots have lifted them from the ground, ignoring the breakage they’ve suffered. Stick screams in what can only be agony, but their scream fades somewhat as there’s a loud clank. It seems that communicator has come dislodged from their neck and fallen to the ground*

**Fender:** Oy, Rodney you dropped a piece! Funny looking thing — don’t think I actually know what this part does.

**Rodney:** It’s okay, just leave it! Bigweld can help me put Glen back together again. I think I’ve got time before I head back to my hometown. I’ve got one heck of a surprise for my dad!

_*Sticks screaming has stopped now, and it seems that by some small mercy, they have passed out. The footsteps fade, and the recorder continues to stay on the air. Finally, after a couple of minutes, there’s a crunching noise and the connection is cut*_

**Audio Log End**

_I can’t stop listening to that final audio log. I’ve listened to that stupid thing again and again and it never stops hurting. I want to stop listening, but I… I’m looking for something within the audio._

_I listen, because I have a terrible feeling. A feeling that goes beyond the idea of some robotic mind, intent on consuming me and any other living thing within its radius. A feeling that is small, that is selfish that is terrifying to feel._

_I want to think that Stick is dead, as horrible as that sounds. It would make sense, those internal injuries should have killed them. But no matter how many times I listen through, I don’t hear them die._

_Their injuries… they would for sure kill them eventually. There’s no doubt about that. That’s not what I’m worried about, though._

_Rodney, it all comes back to him. He was going to repair them. Did they die before he did? Before he stripped away their flesh and replaced it with more metal?_

_What did he do to them?_

_See, I am plagued with a singular fear. That Stick is trapped in a body whose limbs are now all metal. No way to move, nothing to do except to lay there. Slowly dying from starvation, infection and internal bleeding._

_And if that’s the case, then there’s nothing any of us can do to help them._

_Please God, let them be dead._

**End Incident Report**


End file.
